


Two Sides of a Coin

by NouveauNoirSoleil



Series: Lok Burdah [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Friends to Enemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6688957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NouveauNoirSoleil/pseuds/NouveauNoirSoleil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a Nord and a Khajiit walk into an Imperial ambush ...</p>
<p>a dual Dragonborn canon. the two dont exactly see eye-to-eye</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Acquaintances

**Author's Note:**

> part of an extensive OC canon, "Lok Burdah" -- if you want to hear more, i'll probably be posting more in the future :^)
> 
> constructive crit. is much appreciated (as well as any comments!)

"You know ... you don't look like a Stormcloak, Castinian."  
  
The nord looked over curiously at the khajiit as she spoke his name, eyeing her with some suspicion. "Neither do you, I've noticed."  
  
The cart they were both sitting in creaked as the horse it was hooked to pulled down a dirt path, turning the ride into a rather bumpy one.  
  
"You're right, i'm not. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, apparently." She chuckled, though there wasn't much humor in her voice. "I can assure you, I wasn't looking to be a prisoner of war today."  
  
Castinian nodded. "Agreed," He sighed, "I just wanted to go someplace new, do something different. But, well, you can see how well that turned out." He reached up to rub the back of his head, struggling a bit, as the rope tied around his wrists kept his hands tightly bound together.  
  
"Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?"  
  
The two went quiet as another one of the passengers began speaking to a hunched over figure with dark brown hair. "Why do you care?" He retorted, a bitter tone to his voice, lifting his head and glaring at the one who spoke to him.  
  
"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." The blond-haired man who had asked in the first place reassured, his light blue eyes showing some sympathy.  
  
The dark-haired one hesitated. "Rorikstead. I'm ... I'm from Rorikstead."  
  
The man, steering the horse-pulled cart, turned his head to give a sharp look at the prisoners over his shoulder. "Be quiet back there." He snapped, then turned his attention back to the road. Everyone fell silent, glancing at one another. A voice then sounded from ahead of them --  
  
"General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!"  
  
"Good. Let's get this over with."  
  
The khajiit's eyes were round as she looked ahead at where the conversation was coming from. The general and his horse lead the way into what looked like a town with a large wooden gate. Castinian shifted uncomfortably next to her -- knowing they were probably facing death put the three non-Stormcloaks on edge.  
  
"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me." The horse thief whispered, desperation in his voice.  
  
"Well, I suppose it was nice meeting you all." Castinian sighed quietly.  
  
The khajiit leaned over to Castinian, holding one hand to the side of her mouth like she wanted to say something the others wouldn't hear. He hesitated, but craned his neck to listen, raising an eyebrow at her.  
  
"If we get a chance, we need to get out of here." She whispered. "We're not Stormcloaks. We shouldn't be dying here."  
  
"I'm not sure we'll be able to." The nord murmured in return. "But if you have a plan, i'll be right behind you."


	2. Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the Battle for Whiterun takes place, and the two Dragonborn happen to be in the same place for the second time

A figure clad in heavy steel armor and a short, dark blue cloak trudged through deep snow, the frost crunching underneath her heavy boots as she walked. She held the reins of a brown horse tightly in her right hand, and the beast snorted in protest as it's hooves sunk with every step. The weather was less than ideal -- the wind was picking up, and snowflakes fell from the grey clouds in bursts of cold.  
  
"Come on, just a bit further now." She reached up and patted the horse with her left hand, urging it on. The two continued on slowly through the deep snow, the skinny, bare trees around them rattling in the wind. They finally stepped out onto a mostly-covered stone path winding through the forest, and the khajiit stomped her feet to loosen the clumps of ice clinging to her boots. After scanning the area around her, she turned to face the brown equine again, putting her foot in the stirrup and lifting herself onto it's back. Flicking the reins, she started the horse off at a trot, clenching her fists as she watched the trees. It was dark, and a blizzard was surely on it's way. Was this really the best time for a battle?  
  
Of course, she didn't really have a say in it. Ulfric and Galmar had already decided, and she had an important part in this war. She had to be there. She snapped the reins, and the horse hurried it's pace, galloping down the cobblestone road. Soon enough, the trees began to thin, and Dragonsreach -- the Whiterun keep -- was just visible through the snow, stretching above the rolling hills. Her horse broke the treeline and ran up the hillside, passing a stone tower on the right side of the path. Crossing a stone bridge, she slowed her horse and turned to the right, pulling back on the reins.  
  
Looking ahead, she could tell the battle had already begun. A group of Stormcloaks charged up the path toward the Whiterun stables, headed for the gates. Scanning the area, she managed to pick out Galmar in the crowd, his bear pelt draped over his shoulders. The khajiit pushed her horse onwards, racing over to join them. She quickly reached for her bow, strapped to her back, and pulled it in front of her, readying an arrow at the gates. Her eyes locked onto the wooden barricade blocking the way, and the line of Imperial soldiers ready to meet them, letting her arrow fly. It struck, downing one of the soldiers in one hit. "For Skyrim!" She called, and the rest of the Stormcloak soldiers cheered in response, rushing to attack.  
  
In a split second decision, she fastened her bow to her back and loosened her feet from her horse's stirrups, jumping off and rolling neatly to keep herself from harm. Now in front of the barricade, she sprang to her feet, pulling an axe and a sword from her belt. She lashed out and clashed swords with an Imperial soldier, holding the position for a moment before twisting and slashing their legs with her axe. The harsh sounds of steel against steel and the yelling of soldiers surrounded her as the Stormcloaks and the Imperials fought, finishing off her enemy and looking up. There was just enough space for her to advance through. Making a run for it, she used her axe to quickly hack through the wooden barrier and push her way through, but just as she was about to head up the path, a large man wearing steel Imperial armor and a red Imperial cloak blocked her way, wielding a large sword in two hands. She stopped abruptly and readied her own weapons, glaring at him as she contemplated how to get around him.  
  
"Wait .... I know you."  
  
The khajiit looked up in surprise, not taking her eyes off him. "What?" She hissed, taking a step back. "What do I care? You're in my way!" Though, the longer she looked at him, the more she realized that he looked familiar to her as well.  
"Don't you remember when I had your back at Helgen?" He questioned, taking a step toward her. "'I'll be right behind you.'"  
  
"Helgen?" She echoed, lowering her weapons. Her eyes were wide as she stared at him. "Castinian?"  
  
Before they could continue speaking, the Stormcloaks broke through the line at the first gate, heading up toward them. The khajiit glanced back, then faced him again, lifting her sword and axe. "But you're still in my way." She growled. Realizing she would attack at any moment, Castinian raised his sword defensively, just as she swung forward with her axe, blocking her attempt. He dug his feet into the ground and shoved, pushing the axe away from him. In a moment of fear, the khajiit realized he was stronger than her, and she wouldn't win a fight against him using just brute strength. Stumbling back from the force, she stopped and studied her enemy, looking for an opening. By now, the Stormcloak soldiers had reached them, but so did the Imperials, and for the second time she was right in the midst of the fighting.  
  
Before she could attack again, an Imperial soldier charged her, forcing her to defend herself. She quickly dodged out of the way of their sword, ducking and using her low position to her advantage, striking out at their feet. They fell on their back, and she stood up straight, ready to attack again, when suddenly she was shoved. Not seeing it coming, she was pushed right over, tumbling down the path a little ways. She lifted herself up with her hands, grumbling under her breath and realizing she had dropped her weapons. She glared at her attacker, and to her surprise, she was looking up at Castinian again.  
  
"Cyril, wasn't it? Didn't you say you weren't a Stormcloak at one point?" He pointed out, standing over her.  
  
Cyril snorted. "That was at Helgen." She slowly picked herself up, trying not to appear threatening, as she was pretty much defenseless for the moment. "Obviously, that's no longer true." She shuffled backwards, trying not to make her attempt at getting away from him obvious.  
  
"Yes, evidently." He returned, taking a step closer. "That apparently makes us enemies."  
  
The two stood facing each other, eyes locked, ready to act at a moment's notice. As they eyed each other, a call rang out nearby; "Castinian!"  
  
The nord whipped around, and in the same moment, Cyril darted away from him, racing up the hill and snatching her weapons up from where they had fallen. Glancing over, she saw Castinian defending another Imperial soldier from a Stormcloak, easily dispatching his enemy.  
  
"Stormcloaks! Retreat!"  
  
Cyril hissed in frustration. They were retreating already? She noticed Castinian was staring at her as her fellow Stormcloaks fell back, and she made a face at him. "This isn't over!" She yelled, quickly following the retreat order. Cheering broke out behind her as she ran, and she growled to herself, tail lashing behind her.


	3. Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyril climbs the 7,000 steps to meet with the Greybeards for the first time

Cyril slowly walked up the stone steps, powdery snow blowing about her feet. The air was crisp and frigid here -- at such a high elevation, it was rather thin, as well. She shivered slightly, pulling her black cloak tighter around her shoulders, and making sure her hood was securely tied around her neck. She was wearing a different type of armor now -- a more refined steel set of armor, covering every inch of her except her face and her tail.  
  
At the top of the steps she stopped, admiring the view. From here she could see Riverwood, Whiterun, and maybe even Windhelm, too ... if she squinted hard enough. After a few moments, she returned to the journey at hand, looking up at the old stone monastery in front of her. She had finally reached High Hrothgar, home of the Greybeards. She had received a message from them, to come to this place high up at the Throat of the World. Now she would hear what they had to say.  
  
Walking up the final flight of stairs to the building, she grabbed hold of one of the incredibly tall doors and pushed it open, the wind whining as it slipped in. Stepping inside, she closed it behind her, the weight of the door making the building shudder slightly. The sound of the wind was blocked out here, and the quiet made her fur prickle. She walked forward, her steel boots echoing on the rock floor.  
  
"Hello?" She called, leaving the hallway as it lead into a large, main chamber. "I came here at the request of the Greybeards?"  
  
After a few moments, she heard the sound of footsteps, and an elderly Nord with a long, grey beard and dark robes walked into the main chamber. "Ah, Dragonborn. I see you have finally decided to meet with us."  
  
"I apologize for the wait." Cyril responded, dipping her head in respect. "I didn't mean to make you wait this long."  
  
Before long, the other three Greybeards joined them, and they stood in a semicircle in the room.  
  
"We will see if you truly have the gift." The one who greeted her spoke, but the other three remained silent. "Show us, Dragonborn. Let us taste of your Voice."  
  
"Oh?" Cyril glanced at them, "Are you sure ..?"  
  
"Do not be afraid." The Greybeard responded. "Your Shout will not harm us."  
  
"Very well."  
  
After much testing and explaining, Cyril and the four Greybeards stood in the courtyard. "Your quick mastery of a new Thu'um is ... astonishing. I have seen such before, but seeing it again is no less amazing than the first."  
  
"You've seen this before?" The khajiit asked. "How?"  
  
"You are not the only Dragonborn we have seen this age." Arngeir, as he had introduced himself, said slowly. "It is not something we expected, but we know of at least one other Dragonborn, and he has come to us already." He paused, but before Cyril could ask more questions, he spoke up again. "But, you are now ready for your last trial. Come with me."  
  
She followed him back into the monastery, leaving the other Greybeards in the courtyard. They walked down one of the many hallways in the building, and she looked around, noticing the tables of food and wine, as well as some wooden chairs. It seemed they really did live here.  
  
"Here we are." Arngeir brought Cyril back to attention. "I would like you to meet Castinian Klosel, the first Dragonborn of this age."  
  
She stopped abruptly, looking forward to see if it really was who he claimed. And sure enough, there stood Castinian, just down the hallway.  
  
"Are you kidding me?" She whispered to herself. She hadn't seen the nord since the Battle for Whiterun.  
  
"Castinian, this is Cyril Ice-Veins. She is the second Dragonborn we have found. We would like you to work together, as you may be able to learn from each other more than we can teach you ourselves."  
  
Castinian walked toward them, a sly smile on his face, and extended his hand. "Nice to meet you, Cyril." He commented, amusement in his voice.  
  
She slowly took his hand, staring at him the entire time she shook it. "Fancy meeting you here." She replied flatly.  
  
"Now that you have been properly introduced," Arngeir interrupted, "I ask of you both to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder. It is buried in his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav." He looked at the two, as if judging how well they would work together. "Remain true to the Way of the Voice, and you will return."  
  
"Thank you, Master Arngeir. We'll be leaving as soon as we're ready." Cyril replied, an edge to her voice as she glanced at Castinian from the corner of her eye. Arngeir nodded, turning and walking back down the hallway.  
  
The two Dragonborn watched him leave, and as he disappeared around the corner, they turned to each other.  
  
"So ..." Castinian started, "How did you figure out you were Dragonborn?"  
  
"That's not important." Cyril snorted. "What's important is that we're on opposing sides of the war. We're enemies --"  
  
"Are we?"  
  
"Yes!" The khajiit hissed. "You said so yourself. The last time we spoke, at the Battle for Whiterun."  
  
"I haven't forgotten." He said calmly. "But things have changed. We are both Dragonborn. Doesn't that make us allies?"  
  
She was silent, obviously displeased with the situation. "I suppose it does." She finally said, rather reluctantly. "For now, at least."  
  
"Great!" Castinian grinned for a moment. "Let's make a deal," He held out his hand, looking expectant. "We'll stay allies at least for as long as we're on this mission together, and watch each others' backs. Do you agree?"  
  
Cyril shook his hand again. "For as long as we're on the mission together." She agreed. "I'll watch your back."  
  
"And I'll watch yours."


End file.
